A Psychopath Goes Swimming
by Sierra Janeway
Summary: Jim is bored and Seb is shocked to learn he has a perfectly ordinary hobby. Oneshot. Jim/Seb friendship.


_Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to the BBC._

**Summary: **Jim is bored and Seb is shocked to learn he has a perfectly ordinary hobby.

**Chronology: **Unspecific post-The Great Game

**Pairings: **None

**Rating: **K+ just in case

**Author's Note:** For Starkreactor: a Jim and Seb story.

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><p><strong>A Psychopath Goes Swimming<strong>

Sebastian Moran was pretty much shocked but refused to show it.

The fact that his employer/boss/sometime friend was insane meant that Seb daily encountered a lot of things that would shock any person off the street. However, Seb nearly lived with the man and the instances had become routine. Boring, even, sometimes.

Until that morning, when Jim Moriarty had asked Seb to take him swimming.

It had been all Seb could do to not spew coffee all over the Westwood suit his boss was so proud of.

"You want me to take you _what_?" Seb had asked.

"Swimming," Jim had replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Seb had stood staring in shock for a while before he could even ask, "_Why?_"

Jim had shrugged, twiddling with an orange he'd stolen from Seb's breakfast plate. "Haven't been in a while. Bored. Something to do."

"And you need me…why?"

"Oh come now, Sebby, surely after our little stunt at the pool you can't think that there aren't a few nutters in the city who're going to start frequenting pools looking for the consulting criminal. Business and leisure are two different things and I am taking a day off."

And that's how Seb found himself sitting by the side of a hotel pool he'd broken into, watching his employer swim lazy laps and splash about in a pair of swim trucks patterned with the Jolly Roger. He shook his head, trying to pretend it was a day like any other, and returned to cleaning his sniper rifle.

The sound of water nearby, then: "Seeeeeeeeb."

"What Jim?"

"You're not even looking. You're supposed to make eye contact when you speak. Come on, grammar school stuff."

Seb ignored him, folding a polishing cloth.

"Seeeeeeeeeeb."

"What."

"Look!"

"Yes Jim, you're very clever."

"You're not looking, Sebby."

"I'm busy Jim."

"This is your day off too."

"Not if I'm looking after you it isn't."

"Seeeeeeeeb."

With a heavy sigh, Sebastian looked up to find Jim giving him a manic grin from where he held onto the edge of the pool, his chin resting on the tiles. "What?"

Jim pushed away from the wall and performed an underwater somersault, pushing up from the water and shaking the water off his face and out of his hair like an overexcited Doberman Pinscher. The frenzied smile seemed to have never left his face.

Seb turned back to his rifle. "Very nice, Jim."

"Seb!"

"What Jim."

"You should come swimming. It's very nice. I think it might relax you. Snipers have to be relaxed."

"I'm fine, Jim, thank you."

"You don't look fine," Jim replied in a sing-song tone.

Seb picked up the barrel of his gun and peered at it closely. "It's delicate work and it takes a lot of concentration. However, it is necessary and I actually do find it relaxing. So thank you anyway." He glanced up just long enough to see Jim pout and float away in sulk. Seb returned to his work with a silent sigh of relief.

For several minutes the delicate machinery of the weapon's inner workings consumed his attention, a DNA-like pattern that he knew by heart. Now and then the echoing silence of the indoor pool was punctuated by the petulant splashes of whatever sulky swimming Jim was doing.

Then, without warning, a great wall of water cascaded out of nowhere and soaked both Seb and his rifle.

For a moment he sat stunned, appalled at the chlorinated water now coating the workings of the rifle. His own soaking, chilled clothes bothered him much less. He turned, slowly, to face the pool and found exactly what he expected to find: Jim wearing his insufferable grin.

Seb had no idea how Jim had moved that much water in one go. He didn't care. He did care about his potentially ruined weapon, and, to a lesser extent, his own cold and dripping wet self. Without thinking, he yelled, "JIM MORIARTY I WILL END YOU!" and leapt into the pool, where he wrestled his boss underwater and held him there.

They fought for a bit, Jim putting up less of a fight than Seb had thought. It was largely for this reason that Seb eventually let him go, suspecting something else had to be at play. And when Jim surfaced and smiled without the slightest hint of displeasure at almost having been drowned, Seb had his suspicions confirmed.

"Sebby?"

"WHAT."

Jim grinned. "You're swimming."


End file.
